this there is in architecture, as in music, something which defies
analysis, which appeals to our sense of delight we know not how or why,
and probably we do not want to know; the charm might be dissolved if we
did. But up to this point architectural design and expression are based
on reasoning from certain premises. The design is good or bad as it
recognizes or ignores the logic of the case, and the criticism of it
must rest on a similar basis. It is a matter of thought in both cases,
and without thought it can neither be designed nor appreciated to any
purpose, and this is the leading idea which I wish to urge and to
illustrate in these lectures.

You may say: May not a design satisfy all these logical conditions, and
yet be cold and uninteresting, and give one no pleasure? Certainly it
may. Indeed, we referred just now to that last element of beauty which
is beyond analysis. But, if we cannot analyze the result, I rather think
we can express what it is which the designer must evince, beyond clear
reasoning, to give the highest interest to his architecture. He must
have taken an interest in it himself. That seems a little thing to say,
but much lies in it. As Matthew Arnold has said of poetry:

"What poets feel not, when they make
A pleasure in creating,
The world, in its turn, will not take
Pleasure in contemplating."

The truth runs through all art. There are, alas, so many people who do
not seem to have the faculty of taking pleasure, and there is so much
architecture about our streets which it is impossible to suppose any one
took "pleasure in creating." When a feature is put into a design, not
because the designer liked it, but because it is the usual thing and it